The amount of sand one finds in every orifice of their body while living on the coast is no laughing matter. It would be obvious, of course, that sand finds its way into everything, but nothing prepares you for just how quickly and easily it happens until you experience it yourself. It matters not how often one sweeps, cleans, scrubs, or empties their shoes, there will always be sand.
Clagmar Coast had been his retirement destination for years, and now that he was here, he hated it. It was isolated, that was certain, but it was not empty. There were still far too many people poking around. None of them followed him, though, not like before. He could hardly walk into Saint Mungo's without stares, questions, a stray reporter here and there. Those that believed Potter's word swooned over him, their admiration never wavering, despite the glares and silence they were met with when they rushed him in the streets. Those that doubted Potter, or at the very least believed him to be fooled by Severus, were less frequent, but more persistent. They expected him to spill his guts and confess to treachery the moment they looked at him. It was exhausting, humiliating. Muggles did not venture here often, and while the village was warded to drive them away, the beaches and coves were not. The proof of that was dressing before him.
Her name is Catherine, or perhaps Caitlin, he was not sure. Did not care if he were being honest. She is tall, sickly thin, with blonde hair and brown eyes and cigarette breath. She had spotted him walking along the coast and refused to leave him alone, no matter how many times he ignored her. Finally, after many months, loneliness won, and she was in his shack. It did not take long for her to force herself on him, and he hadn't said no. He did not care whether she enjoyed the time spent straddling his lap, and made no attempt, outside of the obvious, to ensure her pleasure. She was a warm hole, a momentary escape from reality. She, however, ignored the herbs and constantly bubbling cauldron in the corner, mostly due to the fact that she never stopped talking long enough to even notice them, which meant he could usually still get a bit of work done when she let herself into his shack. The girl did not even know his name, not his true one, anyway. Dalton is what she knew him by, what she yelled with her head thrown to the heavens as she clutched at the fabric of his shirt. She never stopped talking, even when she was on top of him. There was a never ending stream of words spewing from her mouth, more so than…Never mind.
It wasn't cheating, he kept trying to rationalize that every time the guilt wracked his conscious the moment she finally grew bored of being ignored and left. Severus had no intentions of going back to Spinner's End. It hadn't been an easy decision, but it needed to happen.
The first thoughts of leaving came forth when Lorna was three weeks old. He had come home after work to her screams. He had paused a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose, and contemplated simply turning around and returning to Saint Mungo's for the next eighteen years.
Nothing soothed her in the early days. It wasn't until Lorna was over a month old that they had learned that draping her over his forearm on her stomach soothed her. Severus paced the nursery, patting her back and whispering to her as she wailed in his ear. So, he brewed the potion, knowing exactly how it would work, then stood back and watched as Lorna's face scrunched in a silent scream and tears welled in her eyes as her face turned blue. Her mother lost her mind, more so than he had anticipated. She was beside herself, pulling at her hair and pacing the floor as Severus put his arm out to stop her from going near the child out of desperation and primal mothers instinct. It had to be done though, because if he hadn't done it, if he didn't have one single night without her constant screaming, he was going to shake her. That was not a risk he was willing to take. The mere thought of it churned his stomach and caused him to vomit in the back garden after he had placed her screaming and flailing in her cot two days prior.
Once he had discovered that lying her across his forearm with her head resting in the palm of his hand, things became slightly easier. He couldn't shake the image of shaking her. He dreamed of it, saw it flash through his mind as he looked down at her whimpering on his arm.
It wasn't until weeks later, when he had been angry at…her mother for exploding yet another mug of coffee on him that he had finalized his plans. It wasn't that she had exploded the coffee that had been the final straw, it was later that evening when he returned home, anxious to see Lorna, and she arched her back to get out of his arms and screamed louder than she had ever screamed before. The moment she had returned to her mother's arm, she quieted down. He had scared her. It wouldn't be the last time. He would scare her for the rest of her life. The nightmares had begun the night Lorna was born, and had only gotten worse as she got older. Sooner or later, they would no longer be confined to his dreams.
Lorna hunkered beneath the kitchen table as he screamed at her mother, before finally striking her, too. Lorna bringing her mother ice packs to combat the swelling in her eye or mouth. Lorna crying and screaming for him to stop hitting her mother, before he finally turned his fist to her. Lorna hiding bruises, Lorna using Hogwarts as an escape from her tortured home life, only to be tortured there as well. Lorna hiding in the halls in between dodging one group of children after another, all because she carried his name. Finally, Lorna coming home for the summer to find her mother dead by her own hand, all because she was stuck with him.
He could not let that happen.
So, he does what needed to be done. He gave Dalton Anderson, an intern at Saint Mungo's who passed his potions class by the skin of his teeth and was somehow now working in the potions department, a sack of gold and sent him to see Madam Rosmerta at her home. She knew what the gold was for and was more than discrete.
A one room, wooden shack on Clagmar Coast awaits him as he walks into Spinner's End for what was supposed to be the final time. Instead, he is met with Lorna's first smile, which softens his heart momentarily before hardening it once more when he realizes that he would never be the one to make her smile.
Later that night, Severus sits before a fire in the parlor, writing a letter to Lorna when her mother barges in. He had thought she had been asleep. She massages his neck, perches on the arm of the chair and drapes those long, shapely legs across his lap and begins kissing his neck, just the way she knows that he likes. He could push her off, in fact, he really should push her off. Yet, he can't seem to get his hands to work properly in order to do it, and her mouth is pure bliss on the tender flesh of his neck. So, he takes her, right there in the parlor, over the arm of the sofa like she were some cheap strumpet he met at a pub.
He hadn't left her destitute, would never had dreamed of it. He may not be good for her, and would be even worse for Lorna, but he wasn't a total bastard. He took his name off of the vault at Gringott's, replaced it with Lorna's, and placed two months' salary on the kitchen table next to his wedding band the night he packed all of his belongings and left. One item of his remained in the home; his mother's Slytherin scarf that he himself had worn, with the hopes that Lorna may someday wear it as well.
It mattered not what house Lorna would be sorted into. Part of him didn't even care if she were a witch at all. She could very well be a Muggle like he grandmother and grandfather, and it wouldn't bother him one bit. Her mother will ensure her comfort and safety either way, and he will love her from afar.
Every day is harder than the last, the first month away he almost turns back at least twice a day. As time goes on, the decision becomes easier to live with, but still leaves a sour taste in his mouth and an ache in the pit of his stomach. Every child he hears cry in the distance while in the village causes him to stop in his tracks. He sees them both in his dreams, catches sight of them out of the corner of his eye while he's brewing. Time and time again he must stop himself from turning around and asking her to pass him something or to come stir the cauldron while he steps away for a moment. Nearly every morning, he found himself taking out two mugs, and toasting four pieces of bread, before he finally gave up on coffee and breakfast all together.
For such a brief time, he had had it all. Now he wakes every morning wallowing in anxiety as he awaits the inevitable divorce papers.
Albus could go to hell, if he weren't already there. The damned prophecy didn't mean anything, it certainly didn't mean they had to stay together for the rest of eternity, and it said nothing about a child. He can do this; he can stay away for everyone's own good.
A sturdy breeze filters through the opened window, bringing with it the crisp November air. Catherine/Caitlin hasn't shown her face for two days, a new record. She had yelled at him two days prior, told him that he was an asshole after he had refused to allow her to stay the night. It wasn't the first time she had yelled at him, likely wouldn't be the last either. The shack was quiet for the first time in a very long time.
Movement from the opened window flashes in the corner of his eye. So much for the quiet. Severus places the cauldron under stasis and turns, ready to tell Catherine/Caitlin to go find someone else to pester. Instead, he's met with the silver coat of a very familiar tabby cat.
"I know that it is you, Minerva." Severus sighs as he turns back to his cauldron, a rustle of fabric behind him indicates that Minerva had indeed shifted back to her human form.
"Severus." Minerva's icy voice rings from behind as she moves slowly through the cramped building.
"Why are you here, Minerva?" Severus matches her icy tone, not daring to look her way.
"I could ask the same of you."
"You see, Minerva, people tend to have these things called homes. This one is mine." Severus states dryly as he continues stirring his cauldron, careful not to allow his eyes to towards the woman rifling through his belongings on the bookshelf behind him.
"No. Your home is in Ottery St. Catchpole, where your wife and daughter have recently relocated." Minerva retorts. Severus flinches momentarily at the mention of them, if Minerva notices, she does not respond to it. She moved, to Devon no less, presumably to be closer to the Weasley's. Not that it mattered to him, or was any of his business, but good for her. "Why did you do it?"
"If you came here to be vague, you have succeeded. As you can clearly see, however, I am quite busy."
"Ah, yes." Minerva snorts. "A cough drought. Not something I've seen you prepare behind your back a dozen times or more." Minerva places her hand on his shoulder and turns him to face her. For a small, elderly woman, she is rather strong.
"Why. Are. You. Here?" Severus replies coldly between grit teeth.
"Can't I stop by to see an old colleague?" Minerva says with a grin.
An old colleague. Not old friend, just colleague. That is all he was to her.
"Not without ulterior motives." Severus sighs and raises one brow at her.
"Why are you here, Severus?" Minerva mirrors his raised brow, a slight smirk still etched onto her face.
"I've grown bored of this, Minerva." Severus makes to turn, Minerva places a firm hand on his forehand, forcing him in place.
"There's one thing I've been wanting to ask you." Minerva turns and runs her finger over the edge of the window frame, leaving a trail in the sand that had already begun to gather there. "Why do you think that you are unworthy of happiness?"
"How did you find me, Minerva?"
"I didn't. Potter did."